


Tangle the Wires

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Flirting, Frottage, Gay Bar, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theoretically, Mike shouldn't have any qualms about who Harvey sleeps with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangle the Wires

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, here it is: my first foray into Suits. Thank you so, so, so much to my excellent betas: [mskatej](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mskatej/pseuds/mskatej), [kim47](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47) and [ChristyCorr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristyCorr). They whipped my characters into shape, improved my writing and supported me at every turn. Thanks also to [Dorian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorian), who listened to me talk about this for hours and provided great advice! Any remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> There are several movie quotes littered throughout the fic, all of which [ChristyCorr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristyCorr) provided because I suck at movie quotes. A list can be found in the End Notes.

**i.**

Rubbing elbows with Manhattan’s movers and shakers at a black-tie fundraiser gala was not at the top of Mike’s Awesome Ways to Spend a Friday Night list. 

Mike entered the ballroom fashionably late. Since Rachel still wasn't speaking to him, he was there solo. His other date prospect was Tess, and there was the small hang-up of her being married, so they weren’t exactly eager to appear in public together.

Everyone was dressed to the nines. He was glad he’d taken Harvey’s advice to wear a tux by, well, taking Harvey’s tux. He’d intended to return the one Harvey had loaned him for Atlantic City, but in the chaos of Grammy, work and Tess, he’d forgotten. It was rumpled and too loose around his torso and legs, but it served its purpose.

There was a jazz band playing a dirty riff. Waiters in smart uniforms served hors d’ouevres on sterling silver platters, and others carried trays of champagne. Mike snatched a glass and gulped down half of it.

Mike glanced around for anyone he recognized. A woman with an obnoxious laugh nearly smashed into him, and he was backing out of her way when a hand clutched his arm.

“Mike,” Louis said, his smile not unlike a rabid chipmunk. “What are you doing here?” Louis’s hand was still latched onto Mike’s arm. Mike really wished he'd remove it.

“I was invited,” Mike said, taking a sip of champagne, rolling it around on his tongue. “What about you, Louis? Why are _you_ here?"

Louis chuckled in his best I’m-going-to-ruin-you laugh. “As a Senior Partner, my attendance was required.” He smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the arm of his jacket. “You, however, are a lowly associate. Associates aren’t even invited to these types of events, so I’m really not sure why the hell you’re here, Mike.”

“I’m here,” Mike said, “because Harvey wanted me to learn some 'social graces.'” Mike accompanied the last two words with air quotes.

“Oh, I see.” Louis sneered. “Harvey Specter continues to think he’s above the rules, as does his anointed associate.”

“There was no rule dictating that I couldn’t invite my associate—anointed or otherwise,” Harvey said, sneaking up from behind Mike like he was so prone to do. He clapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder. Just as quickly, Louis’s hand fell from his elbow. 

Louis’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why does he get that special privilege?” 

“It’s a fundraiser, Louis, not an all-expenses paid trip to Hawaii with complimentary strippers.” Mike laughed. “Try to have some fun,” Harvey said. 

He turned to Mike and looked down at his nearly empty glass of champagne. “C’mon.” 

Mike fell into step beside Harvey. They kept to the periphery of the room as people started to dance. 

Harvey gave Mike a long once-over, from his shoes up to his bowtie. Being on the receiving end of Harvey’s attention like this was a little exhilarating. 

“If you were going to wear my tux, you could have at least had it dry cleaned.” 

“How remiss of me. I forgot to ask the help to do it,” Mike said, knocking back the rest of his bubbly. “You know, since I’ve been at your beck and call even more than usual lately.”

“Keep it up, and ‘even more’ will be ‘all the time.’”

Mike should probably be more appalled by that prospect than he was.

Harvey led him over to the bar in the corner and ordered two scotches without asking Mike what he wanted.

Harvey stood there while they waited, the epitome of a high powered lawyer at a black tie event: perfectly tailored tuxedo, shoes shined to perfection, silk tie just-so and hair slicked back. Harvey took their tumblers from the bar and handed one to Mike.

Mike had to admit it: Harvey’s taste in scotch was as good as his taste in everything else. Normally liquor just burned the fuck out his throat, so usually he got it over with quickly; but this—this he could sip and enjoy; he appreciated the slow burn, the smooth oak on his tongue. 

When Mike told Harvey it was the best scotch he’d ever had, Harvey just nodded with a gleam in his eye. “I know.” 

Mike leaned in and smiled. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“If I were, do you think I would advertise it?” Harvey touched one finger to the inside of Mike’s wrist. Mike’s skin tingled.

“Yes,” Mike said, licking his lips after taking a long gulp of scotch. “Yes, you probably would.”

They wandered to a corner of the room with a good view of the stage and lounged against a wall, mocking and laughing as Louis attempted to chat up a beautiful woman in a blue ball gown. There were more antics to behold: a woman got so drunk that she puked all over a man’s expensive shoes and more than a few women sported an impressive side boob. Mike noticed Harvey’s gaze stray and hold on a woman with perfect, round breasts. Mike understood why Harvey was licking his lips; he couldn't help wetting his own mouth.

Harvey took the lead while they went around chatting with people, but Mike was not too far behind. He was introduced to Harvey’s acquaintances and colleagues with a warm clap to his back or a hand to his shoulder.

They were mid-conversation with one of Harvey’s clients about a possible merger when a gorgeous woman with olive skin, dark hair and a dangerous V-cut in her fire engine red dress pulled at Harvey’s elbow.

“Harvey!” She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his head down so she could kiss his cheek. Mike blinked. Sure, he’d seen plenty of women flirt with Harvey, offering their numbers, dirty words, and even on a few occasions, their panties. Usually, those women learned that Harvey liked a bit of a challenge, some tit-for-tat—at the very least, they learned he had a penchant for one-night stands. 

Even more alarming was Harvey’s response: “Vicky!” Her name was just as enthusiastic on his tongue as his name had been on hers. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug without hesitation. 

When they separated, Victoria was beaming, her red lips curled up in a mischievous smile.

Harvey introduced Victoria to their clients and wrapped up their conversation effortlessly. Mike wondered if he should go get another drink. He congratulated himself on a fantastic idea, turning to walk away, but Harvey grabbed his shoulder. Mike pasted on a smile.

“Victoria Swan,” Harvey said, standing close to her. “Please meet Mike, my associate.”

Victoria looked him up and down. “Hi, Mike,” she said and stood on her tip-toes so she could kiss his cheek, too. Her lipstick was sticky against his face, and if Harvey’s expression was anything to go by, it was now smeared over his cheek.

“Mike, I know Victoria from Harvard. She’s a Senior Partner at Winthrop & Leavenworth in LA.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Mike said, nodding his head, all rote politeness. 

Victoria smiled at him, but she only had eyes for Harvey. 

“What brings you out here?” Harvey asked.

“Visiting family and cementing some contacts.” Victoria smiled, tucked her clutch under her arm more firmly. “You know how it is.”

Harvey grinned. “I dare say I'm an expert."

Victoria placed her hand on Harvey’s elbow with intent. “I was hoping to see you here tonight.”

Mike expected Harvey to say something teasing. What he did _not_ expect was for Harvey to cover her hand with his.

Mike took that as his cue to escape. After he mumbled a quick excuse, he headed back to the bar. This time he threw refinement to the wind and ordered a shot of tequila.

*

As the band played a swing number, Mike watched people dance, including Harvey and Victoria.

By this point, Mike was drunk off his ass. He jumped when Jessica leaned against the wall next to him.

“Having a good time?” she asked. Their shoulders brushed as she took a sip of red wine.

“Time of my life,” Mike deadpanned. 

She smiled and leaned in to talk over the boisterous music. “I took a picture of Harvey.” She nodded toward the dance floor. “In case we ever have need of it.”

Mike tilted his head back and laughed.

“That’s his sweetheart from Harvard Law,” Jessica said, nodding to where Victoria and Harvey were dancing.

He was pleased Jessica trusted him enough to tell him, though he had no idea _why_ she was telling him. Jessica Pearson, Smoke and Mirrors Be Thy Name.

“I thought his law school sweetheart was Dana Scott.”

Jessica‘s expression was unreadable. “'Sweetheart' is not the word I'd use.” 

Mike swallowed down the rest of his questions and spent the rest of the evening talking to Jessica and a few partners. After the initial introductions, it was easy to blend in. 

Harvey didn’t talk to him again. When he left with Victoria and without a glance at Mike, it didn't matter because Mike was drunk, laughing and definitely not thinking of Harvey.

**ii.**

It was a Friday at the end of an unusually long and harrowing week. All Mike wanted was to drink himself into oblivion. He also wanted to fuck into oblivion, but he was no longer seeing Tess, trying to pull himself from the brink of bad decisions he had made in the weeks following Grammy’s—

Yeah, he still couldn’t think the word.

Harvey and Mike had convinced a client to settle, and Mike had been the one to slam her this time, throwing her fraud on the table and threatening exposure if she didn’t play ball. It was dirty but truthful, carefully skirting the boundaries of the law. Harvey looked like he couldn’t be prouder. He’d even given Mike a fist bump with _that_ look in his eye.

While Mike grabbed his stuff from his cubicle so he could head home, Harvey appeared at his desk, briefcase in hand and wool coat slung over his shoulder. Harvey led Mike out in companionable silence and held the elevator door open for him. 

“Got a hot date tonight?” Harvey asked, eyes crinkling in the corners as they began the fifty floor descent.

“I thought you didn’t care about my personal life,” Mike said, leaning against the elevator, hands in his pockets.

“I don’t.” Harvey pulled out his phone, like he didn’t care if Mike said anything else. Mike’s lips loosened without his permission. 

“My hot date consists of a bottle of tequila,” Mike said. “She’s stacked, don’t worry.” Mike whistled, low and dirty.

“Classy.” Harvey appeared to be doing his very best not to smile and was failing miserably as they got out at the ground floor.

“You want something better than the tacky bottle of Patron you have waiting?”

“How’d you know?” Mike asked.

“ _Please_. You’re so obvious, it’s disgraceful.” Harvey and Mike walked outside into the crisp night air. “I know a good place that has burgers. And good beer.”

“Burgers? That’s what Bruce Wayne wants for dinner?”

“Yes, and thank you.” 

Harvey whistled for a cab, but he didn't hold the door this time, nodding to the other side of the car. 

Mike debated with himself. It was Friday night, and he could very well go home, watch bad TV and drink himself into a stupor. Would he really rather be out with Harvey, who would undoubtedly boss him around all night?

Against all reason, Mike slid into the cab.

*

The burger place turned out to be in the East Village. Among the casual booths Harvey looked sorely out of place in his Tom Ford suit and Armani tie. Mike wondered when he had started recognizing designers.

“You can’t deny that this burger kicks ass.” Harvey chewed with all the manners of a five-year old and with just as much enthusiasm.

“No, you really can’t.” Mike took a swig of his truly spectacular Belgian ale and tried to reel in his smile when he was in danger of grinning his face off. He and Harvey traded barbs, the conversation drifting inevitably from work to movies. It was just like any day in the office—just not in the office.

When the Yankees game came on, Harvey moved them to the bar, and Mike took great pleasure in cheering for the Sox so that Harvey would throw glares his way. These glares were far more dangerous than Mike was privy to in the office whenever Mike fucked something up by—gasp, shock and awe—caring about people.

Mike ordered a shot of tequila from the busy bartender, who was all dark hair, light eyes and copious amounts of eyeliner; Harvey ordered a beer for himself, passing over his card with a winning smile. The woman (“Erica” her name tag read) slid Mike over a shot of gold tequila, and Harvey urged him to, “Sip.”

Mike got steadily drunker as it got later. Harvey nursed several Rye Manhattans and yelled obscenities at the Sox. Mike watched Harvey as much as he watched the game. He’d been getting more and more nuances of Harvey lately, recalling the night he and Harvey had gotten high together and brought Hardman down. 

“You’re into the Sox?” Erica asked, leaning over the counter to refill Mike’s water during the seventh inning so that her ample cleavage was on display. “That’s rare.”

She’d been flirting casually with Mike and Harvey all night, eyes drifting over them, offering them little smiles. Harvey, of course, was doing his best to one-up Mike at every turn. 

Mike glanced over at Harvey with a sly smile. “Harvey here has a hatred for anything Bostonian,” Mike told Erica, smiling. He’d already picked up on Erica’s Boston accent and had noted Erica’s smile whenever the Yankees made a stupid play.

Harvey shot Mike a pointed look, and Erica laughed. 

“Not everything,” Harvey said, turning up his smile for her, and Mike had to look away for a moment to concentrate on the game.

Erica smiled. “Good, because I grew up in Boston, and nobody in their right mind disses Boston.”

“I do,” Harvey said. “Loudly and often.”

Erica laughed again, and Mike interjected with a touch to her wrist. “Well, we can drink to victory then when the Yankees lose.”

“Deal,” Erica said, grinning, and left to fill orders. Mike watched her juice a lime.

Mike caught Harvey studying him from the corner of his eye. “You’re staring at me,” Mike said, eyes on the game.

“Oh,” Harvey said casually, “I was just wondering how you ever manage to sleep with anyone.”

Mike laughed. “Watch and learn.”

Later in the evening, Mike wasn’t surprised that the Yankees won, but taunting Harvey had been well worth being on the losing side.

When Erica slid her number over to Harvey not-so-surreptitiously, Harvey took it. Mike peered over his shoulder, reading: “ _I get off in 10 minutes_.” 

Harvey nodded at Erica with a slow smile and requested their check. Against Mike’s ear, so close Mike could smell his spicy aftershave, Harvey asked, “Can you get home okay?” 

Mike nodded, throat dry as he stood and clapped a hand on Harvey’s shoulder. He left with his hands shaking and a knot in his throat, and he had no idea why. 

**iii.**

It was a Friday night when Mike emerged from the bathroom intending to return to his cubicle to plow through the mountain of work on his desk. He even harbored delusions of leaving before midnight.

Louis halted him with a hand to his elbow, jerking him to the side.

"Mike," he said. "Exactly where I thought you'd be."

"Are you monitoring my bathroom breaks now?” Mike tapped his finger against his forehead. “I’m sorry, I forgot to get my permission slip from you.”

"They can hardly be considered breaks if you live in the bathroom," Louis said. He leaned closer in a serious violation of personal space that Mike didn’t mind from Harvey, but with Louis, it was an entirely different story. "I need you to accompany me to a client meeting tomorrow."

"I have to help—"

"The next word out of your mouth better not be 'Harvey.'"

"Harvey," he said, because he could.

"Tomorrow." Louis poked Mike in the chest. "My office." Poke. "Seven o'clock sharp." Poke.

Louis turned and marched away without waiting for an answer. Mike brought the heel of his hand up to his forehead. "Fuck."

"Do I need to rinse your mouth out with soap?"

Mike groaned. "Harvey, can this wait till later?" He opened one eye and saw Harvey standing beside him with a stack of briefs and an evil, self-satisfied expression.

"No." Harvey extended the briefs to him, and Mike took them on autopilot. "These are for the Perkins dispute. I need them done in an hour."

"An _hour_?" Mike shook his head once—then twice for good measure. "No way, dude, that’s crazy."

"Yes, _dude_." Harvey glared. "One hour." He held out his wrist and tapped his watch. "You've done far more in an hour with that brain of yours."

"You like my brain," Mike said, smiling.

"On rare occasions," Harvey said, walking away, and Mike's smile only widened. "An hour and not a second more!" Harvey called over his shoulder.

*

Forty seven minutes and twelve seconds later, Mike was done. He marched over to Harvey's office to pass over the briefs he'd finished.

As he was passing Donna's desk, she snatched his wrist with a pincer-like grip. 

"Ow," he said.

"Harvey is in a meeting."

"Oh," he said, wondering why he hadn't been called in. 

Through the door to Harvey’s office, Mike saw Harvey talking to a woman in a sharp business suit. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a bun. They were bickering about something, but their body language said it all; they stood close together, angled toward each other, and Harvey had that spark of challenge in his eye.

"Don't pout. It's unbecoming in a boy your age." 

"I'm not pouting," Mike said, scowling. "Who is that?"

Donna looked at him, possibly seeing too much, but this _was_ Donna. "Maureen Gray. She's a bankruptcy attorney that Harvey is consulting on the Perkins case."

"Wait—what?" Mike leaned closer and lowered his voice because Harvey's door was still partially open. "He consulted another lawyer?"

"Yes," Donna said, twist of lips. "Why do you care?"

"I don’t. It's just an obvious sign that the zombie apocalypse is nigh."

"Don't joke about that,” Donna said. “My brain is particularly scrumptious."

“I’ll bet.” Mike extricated his wrist from Donna's hand. He passed over the briefs. "Could you give these to Harvey when he's done with Ms. Bankruptcy then? He wanted them in under an hour, and I'll never hear the end of it if he thinks they weren't done on time."

"Say ‘please.’"

"Please?"

"Good. I’ll think about it,” Donna said, placing the briefs on her desk and shooing him away.

*

Mike finished up work at his cubicle. It was well past time for him to go home, but he hadn't heard anything yet from Harvey.

When he had strayed by Harvey's office not long ago, Maureen was _still_ there. She and Harvey had both been seated closely on his couch with papers spread over their laps. They'd been meeting for over three hours—frankly unwarranted, even with Maureen’s breadth of experience, which he’d uncovered when he’d googled her earlier and discovered her impressive resumé. 

He'd had the briefs done on time, and Harvey hadn't even been available to point out his mistakes. Not that there'd be any.

Well, if Harvey wanted to waste his night with a bankruptcy lawyer, that was fine. Mike was going to go home and watch TV and drink his beer and be as lazy as he fucking pleased.

Mike had just emerged from the elevator when he nearly crashed into Maureen Gray and Harvey. They both had on their coats, and Harvey had his briefcase. They were smiling, and Harvey's eyes gleamed in a way that meant he was genuinely amused. 

"Mike," Harvey said. "Fortunate timing. Would you like to join us?" 

"Sorry," Mike said, quickly, pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and held it up. "Emergency at home—pipes busted—gotta run. Nice to meet you."

He walked away as quickly as possible. He had no desire to go with Harvey and Maureen to dinner or drinks, watch them exchange witty repartee as foreplay.

*

On the bike ride to work the next morning, Mike chalked yesterday's weird behavior up to sleep deprivation. He'd been getting barely four hours of sleep a night for way too long. After falling asleep last night watching _Full House_ , he'd gotten at least seven and felt like a new man.

That was until he walked to his cubicle and found Harvey waiting for him in his chair. Harvey looked refreshed, with an aura of the well-fucked about him. Mike wanted to flee so he didn’t have to look at Harvey's goddamn face.

"Good morning, sunshine." Harvey spun once in the chair, and Mike blinked.

"Wow," Mike said. "Remind me that bankruptcy has its perks." In a reversal of their usual positions, he leaned against the cubicle wall, looking down at Harvey.

Harvey raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Indeed." He licked his lips, and Mike grit his teeth, jammed his hands into fists. "Take care of your emergency?"

"What—oh, yeah." Mike coughed. "That emergency. False alarm."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I learned from the best."

Harvey stood up and leaned closer than was necessary, calculating, eyes steadfast on Mike’s face. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but next time I introduce you to a colleague, you will be professional."

The associates around watched keenly.

Mike wanted to say, "And how professionally did you fuck her last night?" but instead, he offered a crisp, "Fine," and listened to Harvey ramble on about a slander case they were taking.

 **iv**.

Three weeks later, Harvey summoned Mike to his office. 

Donna looked highly amused as he approached her desk.

“What?” He widened his eyes at her when no answer was forthcoming. “Tell me,” he said, irritated when Donna began to laugh. “ _Donna_.”

“Stop accosting my secretary, and get in here,” Harvey said from inside his office.

Mike sighed and walked in, hands in his pockets, wondering what shit was going down this time.

In a terrible at normality, Harvey pretended to read something as Mike came in. 

“All right, you two are obviously up to something.”

Harvey put down the folder he was rifling through and steepled his fingers under his chin, with his serious face on. “I need you to pretend to be gay.”

There was silence, and Mike stood there, horrified while there was a bout of uproarious laughter outside the office.

Mike choked out a laugh, too. He shook his head and plopped down into a chair. “Ha ha ha,” Mike said. “You are so clever.”

Harvey shifted from his desk to sit across from Mike, unbuttoning his suit jacket before he sat, and Mike’s gaze strayed to his hands.

“Andre Rivers, an old client of mine, has been in touch,” Harvey said, and Mike met his eyes. “Andre believes that his partner is cheating on him.”

“Really? This sounds more like an amateur PI gig.”

“Andre is worth more money than even your mind can fathom and requires the utmost discretion.”

Mike grinned and pointed to himself. "Young, bright, _and_ very, very sneaky.”

“Okay, Dillinger, I need you to go down to Lubrication tonight.”

“ _Lubrication_?" Mike buried his face in his hands and peeked out at Harvey between his fingers. "Please don’t tell me that’s the name of a gay club.”

“It’s not the name of a gay club.”

“Whew, that’s a relief. I was about to be worried that you were going to make me go down there and lure Andre’s partner into some sort of trap.”

“Don’t be so tawdry,” Harvey said. “I need you to watch Andre’s partner, Gary. Apparently he has someone he meets there regularly. I need you to get the money shot.” 

“So I just have to stalk someone? Piece of cake."

Harvey adjusted his tie. "Lubrication is full of frou-frou drinks, hipsters and bad electronic music. It's your type of joint, Williamsburg."

“And how do _you_ know that?” Mike asked, grinning. "Did you partake in the frou-frou drinks or maybe just—?”

Harvey smacked him on the arm. “Andre told me. That’s where he and his partner met.”

“Romantic.”

“I hope you’re not homophobic,” Harvey said. “Actually, I don’t care if you are. You’re going to do this.”

“I am not homophobic.”

“Irrelevant,” Harvey said. He returned to his desk, and Mike took that as his cue to leave.

“Oh, and Mike?” Harvey looked him over from head to toe in a leisurely perusal. “Much as it pains me that I _have_ to remind you: shower before you go. Shave. Wear something—"

“Gay?” Mike said, flushing under Harvey’s stare.

“ _Appropriate_.”

“Don’t you mean inappropriate?”

“This is not about you getting laid. If you want to have an identity crisis, do it when you’re off the clock.” Harvey picked up a baseball and began to read something on his laptop.

When he passed by Donna's desk on the way out, she was still snickering, the traitor.

“Play the twink angle, Mike, and you’ll fit right in.”

*

In preparation for the night, Mike took Harvey's advice. He'd gotten so accustomed to following his orders that it was manifesting itself in strange ways. That was what happened when you worked eighty to a hundred hour weeks for a workaholic slave driver.

When he was home he cracked open a bottle of beer, gulped it down and hopped in the shower. He towel-dried his hair, put some gel in it so it was contained but tousled, pulled on a tight-fitting black t-shirt, black skinny jeans and his old Chucks. Okay, maybe he'd taken some of Donna's suggestion into account, too. 

Harvey had emailed him a picture of Andre's partner, Gary, who was an attractive, muscular black man. Mike opened another beer and checked his email again, glancing at the picture and the details of Gary's habits. This mission was a little bit exciting, if sordid—or maybe exciting because it was sordid. 

Before heading out, Mike slipped into his leather jacket, grabbed his keys, wallet and the fancy digital camera Harvey had loaned him.

*

Lubrication was in Hell’s Kitchen, which was a long subway ride from his apartment. He got there about ten o'clock—a little early, but he wanted to play his cards right.

Much like the city's finest, seediest clubs, it was burrowed between two tall buildings, the entryway down a nondescript alley. Mike fumbled with his iPhone, trying to make sure this was the right address. Damn the inefficiency of the Maps app.

He finally spotted Lubrication by its terrible sign, a display of neon green and terrible Brush Script MT. Once he'd paid a burly dude with a mullet—after being ID'd, Jesus Christ—Mike walked in and was more impressed than he'd expected, though that was not saying much. 

There was a long bar on the left wall with people drinking at bar stools, but it lacked the usual swarm of people descending upon the bar like locusts. The floor was well-washed concrete, and the walls were a warm red. The music was more on the electro-pop side. There were plenty of guys dancing together, and a few girls dancing in a group. 

Mike walked up to the bar and ordered a Jack and Coke. The bartender was a thin, weedy guy with fabulous hair and green eyes. He gave Mike a slow, loaded smile, and Mike wondered if he could use tonight for an opportunity. Just because he didn't usually seek men out didn't mean he wasn't interested if one, say, fell in his lap.

Maybe then he would finally be able to get past this weird thing he had about Harvey getting laid. 

Mike took a seat in the lounge area near the bar and pulled out his phone. He had a text from Harvey: _Any luck?_ Mike responded with: " _Not yet, but you were right about me liking this place. There are a lot of hot guys._."

His phone beeped again, barely a second later. 

_I meant with Gary._ A second later: _Idiot_.

Mike smiled and texted back: _At least I have a pretty face._

Harvey responded with: _Your looks are kinda pretty, when your face isn't screwing it up._

*

After spending thirty minutes staring into his drink, a gorgeous guy offered to buy Mike a second drink. He was tall and lean, with dark hair, wearing jeans and a fitted red pullover. Mike smiled and went with it. He was not accustomed to flirting with guys in the hopes of getting some. The guy—after four drinks, Mike had found out his name was Eric—turned out to be a banker. He was brilliant with a razor-edge smile and an intense gaze. He reminded Mike a little of—no. He shook his head. His would not let his brain go there, not now.

When Eric asked him to dance, Mike was uninhibited enough to accept. Why the fuck not? He was pulled into the mass of gyrating bodies. Mike looped his arms around Eric's neck. Eric took hold of his hips and pulled him closer, and Mike got into the groove, grinding back. It was surprisingly good, and Mike found himself sweaty and half-hard when he noticed Gary enter the club.

It was a little after midnight. Gary headed straight for the bar and ordered some pink concoction that looked like fizzy Benadryl. 

"Hey, I need to go make a quick call," Mike said, close to Eric's ear. Eric squeezed his arm, smiling, and promised he wasn't going anywhere. 

Gary took a while to settle in at the bar. He was turning around every so often, clearly looking for someone. Soon a tan guy with excessive tattoos, wearing a shirt so small it looked like a camisole, entered and made a beeline for Gary. Mike slipped the digital camera out of his jacket pocket and began snapping pictures when Gary and Camisole started making out.

Harvey had said Mike only needed a shot of Gary being obviously unfaithful, so he got that and a video of their epic make out session. By the time Mike was done, Gary was none the wiser. 

Mike reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and texted Harvey: _Got it._

Harvey responded soon with: _Good, I’ll be there soon, stay put._

Mike stared at his phone. That was strange. Why was Harvey coming here—to a gay bar of all places—at nearly one in the morning? 

Whatever. Harvey could come in and see Mike chatting up someone for once. And like a gift from the gods of fate, Eric appeared. "You finished?"

"Yeah," Mike said. "We need another drink."

"If you're offering."

“Oh, I am,” Mike said, offering Eric a dirty grin. He took Eric's elbow, and they sat at the bar, tipping back some shots. 

The tap on Mike's shoulder came while he was in the middle of licking salt off his wrist. He turned around and—Harvey. Who was wearing a light blue button-down and wool slacks and looking _furious_. 

Mike's mouth went dry. Fuck, and he’d thought _Eric_ was hot. Who was he kidding?

"Mike," Harvey said.

"Harvey Specter walks into a gay bar," Mike said with a half-smile to test the waters.

Harvey didn't look the least bit amused.

"Would you like a drink?" Mike asked and knocked back his shot to make his point, licked his lips and watched Harvey's face. But Harvey was not looking at Mike: he was staring daggers at Eric. 

"Oh, I'm being rude. Eric, this is—"

"Harvey," Eric says, eyes shining with interest. "We've met." His voice was nearly a purr. 

Mike's eyes widened. _No way_.

"Mike, I need to speak to you." He glanced at Eric. "Alone."

Mike swung down from the bar, patting Eric on his well-sculpted bicep to say _be right back_. Harvey grabbed his arm in a bruising grip and pulled him away, only stopping when they were near to the bathrooms. 

"Why were you talking to him?"

"None of your business." He didn't know what Harvey’s issue was tonight, but he was not going to put up with his moody shit. If Harvey wanted to be maudlin, he could go home and wallow in his sorrows with his blues records and his scotch. 

"He’s up to no good," Harvey said through clenched teeth. "I know his type."

”I hope you know how ridiculous you sound right now.” Mike put his hands on his hips. “Because, in case you don’t: you sound really fucking ridiculous.”

It was like Mike hadn’t spoken at all.

"I must admit I wasn't aware of your inclinations." Harvey’s eyes were dark. There was a curve to his mouth that Mike wasn’t used to seeing—and he really needed to stop staring at Harvey's mouth. "Though I must say," Harvey said, blatantly looking Mike over, "you do fit in quite well."

Was Harvey _flirting_ with him? _Really_ flirting? That idea was so far-fetched that Mike dismissed it out of hand. 

"Did you just admit to not being omniscient?" 

"I said no such thing."

“By the way, I thought the point of me coming here was so you wouldn’t be recognized by Gary.”

"I know for a fact that Gary snuck out not long ago. They slipped out back while I was waiting in the cab.” 

"That still doesn't explain why you're here," Mike said, pulling the camera from his jacket pocket. "You want the smoking gun or not?"

"No, I just wanted this for my personal collection." He snatched the camera. "Now leave me alone so I can make some use of this unfortunate trip," he said, like meeting Mike here hadn't been _his_ idea. And just because Harvey couldn't help being an ass, he called, "And do find a better prospect, though there’s no accounting for bad taste."

Ha, if only Harvey knew.

Cursing Harvey out wasn't an option and fucking him against the wall in the bathroom certainly wasn’t, so Mike choked down his frustration and walked back over to Eric to wind things down, but he discovered that Eric was gone. 

Any remaining common sense Mike possessed said that he should go home; he _should_ stop watching Harvey settle onto a bar stool and turn up his smile a few notches for the guy sitting next to him. The man was obviously ready to eat Harvey up with a spoon. Mike stood there, with the music a steady beat in his ears, his anger building. When Harvey looked over his shoulder at Mike and held his gaze, Mike saw red.

Mike stalked over to the dance floor and found a hot guy to dance with. He forced himself to turn away from Harvey, but that didn’t stop his mind from reeling. 

Harvey was equal opportunity. It was like a whole spectrum of opportunities that had not previously been available now were—no. 

The guy Mike danced with asked him if he was okay several times, and Mike just nodded, smiled and leaned in to press their mouths together, plunging his tongue into his mouth. A rush of adrenaline itched under Mike's skin, _want _both ugly and visceral clawing at his ribcage. Mike hoped Harvey was watching, hoped Harvey wished it was Mike's tongue shoving into _his_ mouth.__

__When the song was over, Mike pulled away, hard and panting. There was no way he was going to walk out of here now. No way, when Harvey was over there at the bar sitting with some good looking douche. Mike was going to grab Harvey by his perfectly pressed collar and—_ _

__Mike turned around, but Harvey was no longer at the bar and neither was the guy._ _

__When the guy he was dancing with pulled him into the bathroom, shoved him in a stall and got down on his knees, Mike let him. When he sucked Mike’s cock down, Mike grabbed the back of the guy’s neck, forced away his thoughts, where Harvey's smug face was playing on a permanent loop._ _

__**v.** _ _

__Mike exercised great restraint by not jumping up and down in glee when the judge declared the case in their favor. Out the corner of his eye, he was pleased to see that Harvey was smiling._ _

__Their client was a banker who had been accused of embezzling money from her branch. Since the assholes had been unwilling to settle, Harvey had slammed them in court using evidence uncovered from an internal contact scored by Louis. All the evidence had implicated their client’s boss, who had been siphoning off money for years._ _

__Harvey had been amazing as usual—bold and sharp, cutting but fair. This was _their_ victory, Mike thought, as he followed Harvey out of the courtroom. If they both had a swagger in their step, it was hard-won—then again, Harvey always had a swagger in his step._ _

__Once they were out in the hallway, Harvey caught up with Lucy Garcia, the opposing counsel. She was gorgeous and smart and, at the moment, looked like her life’s ambition was to choke Harvey with his Armani tie. It was a nice change to the women and men fawning all over Harvey._ _

__“You accessed information illegally,” she said, pressing in on Harvey._ _

__“Lucy, you wound me. I got all my information fair and square.” Harvey grinned. “Though, if I had acquired it through illegal means, I’d like to see you prove it.”_ _

__Garcia’s mouth opened and closed a few times. That was how Harvey and Mike left her, standing in the middle of the cavernous hallway. Harvey slapped Mike on the back on their way out before he was on his Blackberry, calling Jessica._ _

__When they walked outside, it was still mid-afternoon. The last thing Mike was in the mood for was to go back to the office and proof briefs._ _

__By the time Harvey was off the phone, they were on the street squinting through the glare of sunlight for Ray. When the car arrived, Harvey opened his door and stopped Mike from going around to the other side. Mike turned to stare at him—because _what the hell, dude?_. “Get in,” Harvey said, face betraying nothing._ _

__“If you insist,” he said, with a curtsey and slid into the car._ _

__Once inside, Mike pulled out his phone to check his messages. He looked up when Harvey instructed Ray to drive them to Gramercy Tavern._ _

__“Where are we going?”_ _

__Harvey sighed and looked at him like he was an idiot. “I trust you don’t have a hearing problem?”_ _

__“Only a problem with domineering assholes,” Mike said, enjoying the sound of Ray laughing through the front seat window. “We’re not going back to work, then?”_ _

__“No,” Harvey said, seemingly content with the label._ _

__“Client meeting?”_ _

__“No,” Harvey said. “We’re under strict orders from Jessica to have some fun.”_ _

____

*

Donna had scored them reservations by the time they’d arrived in Gramercy. The manager greeted them at the door, holding his hand out to Harvey and bowing till his back was arched. He murmured, “Mr. Specter,” so reverently that it took all of Mike’s effort not to crack up.

The place was warmer and more contemporary than Mike would have expected: full of old antiques and, despite not yet being evening, there were candles set at each table. This was different from the type of place Harvey usually brought him—this was casual and intimate, but just refined enough. 

Inexplicably, Mike's hands were a little clammy.

He and Harvey were led to a table situated near the fireplace with a great view of the rest of the restaurant.

“Please allow me to offer you a complimentary 1996 Billecart-Salmon Brut,” the manager offered, handing the wine menu over to Harvey and ignoring Mike’s existence. 

“That would be excellent. Thank you, George,” Harvey said. George bowed low again and sauntered off, waved his hand at a member of the wait staff in the universal, “Minion, do this!” gesture that Louis had perfected. 

Mike slid forward in his seat, elbows on the table. “Why does he act like he worships you?” Mike asked.

“Because I helped him out a few years ago. Big marketing suit.” He grinned widely. “I was _awesome_.”

Mike shook his head with a fond smile. “You know everyone in the city.”

“Everyone important.”

“Does that mean I’m important?” Mike said, raising his eyebrows, mouth curved upward.

He was cruelly interrupted by the sommelier bringing the champagne (which cost over $300 according to the wine menu). The sommelier poured a small amount in Harvey’s glass, and Harvey put the glass near his nose to smell. Mike watched dumbly as Harvey's lips brushed the rim of the glass. Harvey nodded his acceptance. 

The champagne was indeed excellent. Mike held up his glass. “To kicking ass.”

Harvey didn't even try to hide his amusement, his eyes warm. They clinked glasses and proceeded to order a lavish tasting menu when their waiter came around. Though it was excellent, Mike found himself wishing for a bacon cheeseburger before they even reached the main course. 

Some of his earlier exuberance faded into contented relaxation as he and Harvey worked their way through several courses. Their regular back and forth was easy, but Mike found himself wanting to talk about something other than work. 

“Tell me about Harvard,” Mike said, after several glasses of champagne. 

“Shouldn't you know all about it already?" Harvey asked, grinning. He took another sip of wine. "Fine. What do you want to know?”

Mike leaned forward, settling his chin in his hands, meeting Harvey’s dark eyes. “Anything – everything. Classes, the douches, the parties, the women—“

“Ah, so you’re just interested in my sex life,” Harvey said.

“You know it, baby.” 

“We have been remiss in that particular area of your education,” Harvey said. 

Mike nearly choked on his lobster salad. "If I wanted to bring home a different person every night I'd have no trouble."

“That’s not what I meant.” Harvey smirked, eyes positively wicked. 

Harvey stared at him. Mike stared back for a long stretch of time without blinking; eventually, they were forced to declare an impasse. 

“You’re impossible,” Harvey said, with a shake of his head. 

Mike grinned, and their waiter topped off his champagne as Harvey started to talk.

*

By the time they were done eating, Mike was in hysterics, tears streaming down his face. They’d finished the bottle of champagne long ago, and now they were working on a bottle of red, spicy and rich on Mike’s tongue.

“You had sex with Scottie in a _church_?”

“More than once,” Harvey said, mouth red from wine.

“That’s epic,” Mike said, staring at Harvey’s mouth, and feeling terribly—well, jealous. Jealous as fuck.

The manager came by to check that they didn’t need something else, and Harvey started to pull out his wallet.

"I can get it," Mike offered, not even realizing what he was saying till it was out of his mouth. 

Harvey raised an eyebrow and shook his head minutely, which meant _I am too rich to let you pay, but if you keep making a show, you will be paying_.

After Harvey settled the bill, they got their coats and headed outside. 

Mike was surprised that he didn’t feel more wasted. The world was soft and easy around him, Harvey at his side. 

Right when Mike was about to say he’d just walk back to the firm because it seemed too early to go home, Harvey asked, "Are you in the mood for scotch?"

Thrown by the non-sequitur, Mike raised his eyebrows. “Scotch?”

“There’s the hearing problem again.”

“And there’s your asshole problem again.”

“Forget I asked,” Harvey said, pulling on his arm. “You’re my associate: you _are_ in the mood for scotch.”

With a sense of mis-conflated urgency, Harvey frog marched him to a cab. It occurred to Mike that Harvey must also be enjoying the evening too much to go home yet.

*

Harvey made a quick business call, because even when Harvey was having fun he was a ridiculous workaholic. Afterwards, Mike followed him into the Carlyle Hotel, and then into Bemelmans Bar. They slid into the dark leather upholstered bar seats, Harvey talking about his phone conversation with Hudgens, doing a terrible impression of his posh London accent.

“He’s such a dick,” Mike said. 

“Truly, you have a dizzying intellect,” Harvey said, thwacking his forehead.

“Hey!” Mike covered his forehead with his hand. Mike glared at Harvey, the juvenile bastard. “Wait till I get going!”

Mike forgot the pain when Harvey began staring at him like he was searching for the answer to some great mystery. 

“ _What_?” Heat rose to his cheeks. Harvey looked at him with an intensity that settled low in Mike’s stomach.

Harvey flagged down the bartender, a gorgeous brunette dressed in a classy, well-tailored black uniform that did little to hide the fact that she had huge breasts, which was seemingly one of Harvey’s types. “I’ll have the Macallan, 18 year,” and Harvey poked his thumb towards Mike, “and he’ll have the Balvenie, 21 year.”

“Great choices,” she said with a solicitous smile and offered them some sparkling water.

“I hope we can use the company card for this,” Mike said, because if Donna could take Rachel out all the time for happy hour on the company card, Mike should be treated for this enforced bout of scotch drinking. “They’re gouging the shit out the prices.”

“You act like I didn’t give you an obscene bonus a few months ago.”

Mike really wished Harvey would not use words like "obscene." 

“I spent most of that on the apartment I bought for Grammy,” Mike said, his good mood deflating. He might have no longer been in the torrential mess of pot, outbursts and emotions running high, but he was not _okay_ , either. 

Harvey winced a bit. It was then that their scotch came.

Mike sipped at it. It burned his lips, his tongue. 

When Mike looked toward Harvey, it was to discover he was watching him. Again. Mike would have to go to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t have something embarrassing on his face, because Harvey was the type not to mention if Mike had something in his teeth.

“You like it?” Harvey asked, stealing Mike’s tumbler without asking.

“Help yourself,” Mike muttered.

Harvey took a careful sip. “Better than I remembered.” He gave it back and waited, clearly anticipating an answer.

“I like it well enough.”

“Plebeian.”

*

They were three scotches in apiece, and Mike was plastered. It was well past ten o’clock. He'd been up since 5:00 AM and had only gotten three hours’ sleep the previous night.

Harvey was telling Mike sordid tales about Louis, including a recounting of the infamous Pissing in the Office debacle, as well as a new story: Harvey Caught Louis Jerking Off and Fled.

“That's disgusting,” Mike said, laughing despite himself.

“I was traumatized,” Harvey said. 

“Thank you. Now, so am I,” Mike said with a shudder, swallowing down more scotch like it was water. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. That was until Harvey grabbed his tie between his index and forefinger, rubbing at the fabric. “This is a nice tie,” he said. “Who designed it?” 

Mike had a hard time dragging his eyes away from Harvey's fingers. Harvey's face was so close to his, his attention focused squarely on Mike. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him why it was a _really_ bad idea to be out drunk with Harvey. “Burberry, I think,” he said, lowering his eyes to Harvey's hands again. They were strong and capable. Long, thick fingers. 

“You _think_?” Harvey asked, voice rough from scotch. Mike looked up to study Harvey. His eyes were glassy.

“You’re drunk,” Mike said.

“I don’t get drunk.” Harvey said, pulling his hand away. 

“Of course. Harvey Specter doesn’t get drunk. Just like Harvey Specter doesn’t get cotton mouth.”

“There’s a fine line between tipsy and drunk,” Harvey said, with a self-assured nod.

“You’re delusional.”

By the time Harvey had another scotch, Mike was seriously not understanding how Harvey was sitting upright. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glazed to hell. Harvey had loosened his tie. There was the hollow of his throat, and Mike could just reach over and lick—oh, God—

The bartender slipped over to them. "May I get anything else for you two?" She was gorgeous in a way that Mike usually found appealing. More natural, less make-up, toned and _amazing_ breasts. She was perfect, and yet he had no interest in her whatsoever. 

What happened next should not have been surprising. It happened every goddamned time.

Harvey's smile—the smile that had been for _Mike_ —turned slow and dirty. "Julia," Harvey said.

She blinked. "How'd you know my name?" Mike checked, and she wasn't wearing a nametag.

"I've seen you here before. You introduced yourself once." His voice was somehow soft and still perfectly audible over the throng of people congregating around the bar. 

Everything around Mike seemed to have halted. There was a faint buzzing in his ears. He felt wobbly, like he was on a tilt-a-whirl. All he could see was Harvey, with his eyes on this woman, giving her the green light. She was saying, "I take my break in fifteen minutes if you'd like to grab a drink," and Mike found himself talking before he'd thought it through, before he'd even thought at _all_.

"I'm sorry, but we really have to go." Harvey turned to look at him so fast that he could've gotten whiplash. Mike didn't care. He was tired of this, tired of playing second fiddle the moment someone attractive batted their eyelashes or made a move on Harvey. If he had looked at Harvey, he wasn't sure he could go through this; but he was aware nonetheless of the heavy presence of Harvey's stare. 

The woman was staring at him, wide-eyed, and he held her gaze. He wasn't sure what she saw in his eyes, but he seemed to make an impression, and she immediately backed off. 

"Could we get the check, please?" Mike asked, making a show of slamming back the remainder of his scotch. Mike held out his hand for Harvey's card, refusing to look at him, and handed the card to Julia when she returned. 

Harvey looked at him incredulously. "Mike, what the hell was that?"

Any fool could see he'd just aired his dirty laundry right then and there, which meant that Harvey knew now—knew in _spades_. He was going to be mocked for it or given some firm speech about why they couldn't, or any number of excuses, all masking the truth: Harvey wasn't interested.

Panic set in as he pushed away from the bar. Mike grasped hold of his chair as he stood up on shaky feet so he’d remain upright. He flung off Harvey's attempt to grab his hand. 

If Mike left, maybe Harvey would tell Julia about his poor misbegotten associate and his silly crush; they’d have a good laugh at Mike’s expense, and he’d end up fucking her.

Mike had at least a second to escape. A second before Julia came back with the card. 

If Mike was anything, it was fast. He was a genius at navigating sharp corners. He was out the bar and turning a hall into the adjoining hotel—

Into Harvey. Somehow Harvey had appeared right in front of him, and they were standing toe-to-toe.

"Mike," Harvey said, a firm hand on his arm. "What was that?" 

"I hate you," Mike said, spitting it right in Harvey's face. "I hate you. With your stupid face and your stupid ties and your stupid one night stands."

Harvey seemed beyond words. "You—"

"Yes,” Mike said, deflating, throat tight. He put his hand to the back of his neck, pulled at his hair. "I'm trying to get over it, all right?" He tilted his chin up to meet Harvey's gaze again, daring Harvey to say something belittling. 

"It?" 

As if Harvey Play-The-Man Specter hadn't figured it out yet.

"Are you _trying_ to humiliate me?" Mike said, throwing his hands up. "Because let me tell you, it's working."

Harvey grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him close, and Mike very nearly stopped breathing.

"I need you to tell me. I can't initiate if you don't tell me."

Initiate? Mike looked into Harvey's eyes, wild and shocked, dark and glassy—but no, nothing resembling disgust. He looked very nearly desperate, the way he had when they thought they'd lost Clifford's case or when Hardman had won the vote or when—

Mike had no rational thought, just an all-consuming need to know. But he didn't know how to ask without revealing more than he wanted.

They stood still, in the dark hallway with the sounds from the bar echoing behind them and the familiar smell of hotel carpet. Mike swallowed, throat clicking, but he still couldn't find the words.

Harvey smiled, wooden and stilted. "Probably for the best then," he said and moved to walk past Mike. 

That sprung Mike into action. 

Mike grabbed Harvey by his silk tie, still loose around his neck, and pulled. For one moment, Mike was aware that Harvey was opening his mouth, no doubt to lodge a complaint. Mike quashed it by pressing his mouth to Harvey's in a hard kiss. 

Harvey's mouth was firm and dry under his. Stationary. Mike moved in closer so he could feel the firm press of Harvey's body. There was so much heat, and Mike was going out of his mind wanting to know the heat of Harvey's mouth, what he tasted like, how their tongues would feel rubbing together in a slick, teasing slide.

Mike wasn't sure if he could keep standing of his own volition so he grabbed Harvey's shoulders, the wool of his coat soft and warm under his hands. When Harvey pulled away, they were both breathing harshly.

Harvey leaned in so close their foreheads were touching. Harvey stared down at Mike's mouth. He made a noise in his throat and dove in again. Mike met him, opening his mouth under Harvey’s as Harvey cupped Mike’s chin.

Mike moaned against Harvey's lips, coaxing them open, wanting inside so much he was vibrating with it. Harvey resisted at first, keeping the kiss chaste, but when Mike licked at Harvey's lips, slow and deliberate, Harvey inhaled sharply and claimed Mike's mouth. Harvey's hand tightened on his jaw to the point of pain as their mouths parted. Mike pushed Harvey further, plunging his tongue in, tasting Harvey, sharpness and scotch. Without breaking the kiss, Harvey pushed Mike backwards until he hit the wall.

Harvey angled Mike's head the way he wanted, and Mike let him, pulling Harvey in closer with an arm around his waist. His cock was full in his pants, thickening even further as Harvey sucked on his tongue. In retaliation, Mike flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Harvey broke the kiss first. He looked delicious, all swollen, reddened lips and eyes gone so dark they appeared black.

"Is this what you wanted?" Harvey asked, rough. He pushed his knee between Mike's legs, spreading them open, pressing his thigh against Mike's cock and—fuck, Harvey was hard against him.

" _Yes_."

Harvey slipped his hands behind Mike and grabbed his ass in both hands, squeezing, pulling Mike tighter onto his thigh. Mike started to rock his hips, throwing back his head. "Fuck, Harvey." 

"I want you to tell me," Harvey said, hard thigh solid against Mike's dick, applying even more pressure, "exactly what you want."

"I want you to—" Harvey bit at Mike's jawbone where it met his neck. "Shit."

"That's not good enough." Harvey tilted his chin up with one finger, so that Mike was forced to meet his gaze. Harvey smiled. "I'm not going to do anything unless you tell me."

"I want you to fuck me."

Harvey groaned, pressing up against Mike. "You want that?" he asked, thrusting his hips against Mike for the first time. He was hard against Mike's hip, rutting against him in slow pushes, making it easy for Mike to imagine Harvey fucking into him. "My cock sliding into you, stretching you open on it—"

"Yeah, fuck—" 

"If you want it, you're going to tell me why you pulled that stunt in there," Harvey said, loosening Mike's tie, yanking at the collar of his shirt till his neck was further exposed.

"You know why."

"Do I?" 

"I was jealous," Mike choked out.

"Were you?" Harvey asked, softly against his ear. "You want me all to yourself?"

"God, you're such a bastard."

"I know," Harvey said and licked a long stripe from Mike's jaw down to the hollow of his throat. Harvey rubbed against him once more, the friction just what Mike needed. He could feel his balls tightening—

Suddenly Harvey stepped away, and Mike was struck dumb for a moment. Then the noise registered: the sound of something rolling around the corner. A bell boy appeared further down the hallway, wheeling a huge cart of luggage.

 _Fuck_. Mike wanted nothing more than to grab Harvey and rut up against him until they both came, audience be damned. Harvey was staring at him, hungry, with a single-minded focus; a different look entirely than he directed toward his conquests. Harvey grabbed his wrist and pulled him from the hallway, through the lobby and outside onto the sidewalk.

The fresh, cold air was a balm to Mike's heaving lungs. Harvey turned to him, the space between them scant, as he leaned to talk low against Mike's ear. Mike couldn't suppress his shudder. "I want nothing more than to take you home right now and fuck you senseless," Harvey said. Heat bolted down Mike’s spine. " _But_ —we're not going to do this tonight. I'm going to get you a cab, and you're going to go home."

"But—" Mike faltered when Harvey pressed a finger to his mouth. Someone behind him yelled an obscenity at a pedestrian. "Okay, but you better be willing to talk about this tomorrow," Mike said beneath Harvey's finger, shivering as it rubbed against the corner of his mouth.

"Talking is overrated."

"You know what I mean."

Harvey rolled his eyes, but he leaned forward, dropped his finger from Mike's mouth and kissed him, close-mouthed but lingering. When he pulled away, his eyes were on Mike's.

Mike nodded.

They waited for just a few minutes. When the cab pulled up, Harvey held the door open for Mike. Harvey stared at him one last long moment before shutting the door.

The whole way home Mike replayed the kiss and the way Harvey had felt against him over and over in his mind. The taste of Harvey's mouth, the fixation in his eyes as he stared at Mike—fuck, his cock hard against him. Harvey had wanted him. 

He'd definitely drunk too much. There would be consequences, but right now he didn't care. All he could think of was how Harvey preferred to live on the high, thrilling end of life, with steep gambles and big wins. 

As soon as Mike got home, with the door slammed behind him, he leaned against it, pulled out his cock and jerked it, thinking about Harvey's mouth and his voice in Mike's ear, the scrape of his teeth down Mike's neck. And he thought about being fucked open, taking Harvey's cock deep inside his ass, riding him faster and faster, while Harvey fisted Mike's cock in his rough hand. Mike’s whole body tensed as he came all over his stomach in wet, long pulses.

**vi.**

Mike woke up and promptly wished he was dead, then he went back to sleep.

At ten o'clock he opened one eye blearily and got up long enough to chug two glasses of water and take three Tylenol. He closed his eyes, remembered the feeling of Harvey's lips on his. His eyes shot open, and he fumbled for his phone. Not surprisingly, there were no messages or texts of any kind. Mike refused to dwell on it, drifting off to sleep again.

When Mike woke up again, he forced himself into the shower before even looking at his phone, warm water sluicing down his back, and he leaned his forehead against the cool tile, breathing in deeply, doing his best not to hurl. He carefully pushed back any thoughts of Harvey, washing methodically. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, wandered into the kitchen and made the coffee as strong and hot as he could force down his throat. He breathed in and out a few times, and finally, finally joining the land of the civilized, he wandered into his room, grabbed his phone. It was blank—no texts, no voicemails. 

Harvey had mentioned he wanted Mike to take the initiative. Maybe _he_ needed to grow some balls and call Harvey first. But if he called Harvey, there was the possibility Harvey wouldn't answer. Mike wasn't going to give him the chance.

Then a new startling thought occurred to Mike: _What if he doesn't remember? What if he_ pretends _he doesn't remember?_

Fuck that. Mike would go over there and _make_ Harvey remember. He was not going to sit around with the ghost memory of Harvey's lips on his, Harvey pressed tightly to his body, Harvey's dark voice talking about fucking him.

*

Mike showed up at Harvey's at four o'clock with a box of some of the finest pastries he could find, and they cost him far more than he'd usually be willing to dish out for a whole meal. He was wearing a white shirt untucked over tight fitting jeans with his hair suitably tousled. Okay, so he might have spent a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror and trying on clothes, feeling very much like a teenage girl.

Security waved him through to Harvey's private elevator, and he felt so nervous, like he might jump out of his skin, as the elevator climbed higher and higher. 

Harvey was at the top when he arrived, leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and wearing a black t-shirt that showed off his biceps in tortuous detail

"Hey," Mike said, feeling remarkably shy, and he offered the box over to Harvey. But Harvey had not held his hand out to take the box. He was staring at Mike with an intensity that rivaled last night, and all Mike's worries that it had all been a fluke vanished. 

"I hope these are up to snuff," Mike said, smiling. Harvey took them.

"I like this bakery, actually," Harvey said, and the tacit praise—God, this was going to become a pattern—also went to Mike's dick. 

"I'm a genius." 

"Don't be arrogant." Mike snorted. "Sit," Harvey said, pointing him to the couch. "Would you like a beer?" he asked so innocently that Mike wanted to clobber him.

"Only if you want vomit as a new feature in your living room."

"So much as think about it, and you're dead." Harvey moved to the kitchen, and Mike stayed quiet, watching while Harvey set about making coffee. He poured the coffee into mugs from a French press and settled down on the couch beside Mike. The coffee was piping hot, bold and bitter. 

Harvey put his mug down and turned to Mike. Their knees brushed. "What happened last night?" Harvey asked, pinning Mike with a stare.

Fuck, he was about to be interrogated. Mike wiped his hands on his palms.

"I sort of lost it," Mike said.

"Yes, that much was obvious." Harvey tilted his head. 

"I feel like I'm being cross-examined."

"Don't tempt me." Harvey glared, crossed his legs.

Mike looked out the window at the blue sky, the clouds drifting by. "I was jealous." A sigh. "I've been jealous for a while." Mike met Harvey's eyes, expecting for there to be more questions, but Harvey was sliding closer, pupils blown wide.

"What do you want?" Harvey asked.

"For you not to fuck everyone who approaches you." Mike licked his lips. "When _I'm_ right here."

At that, Harvey looked _irate_. "My skills, while vast and impressive, do not extend to being clairvoyant."

Harvey moved closer, brushing against the shell of his ear. A hot shiver worked its way down Mike's spine. "I've been fucking other people to stop from thinking about _you_." Harvey's teeth grazed his ear, bit into the lobe.

"Oh, God," Mike said. 

Harvey pressed his tongue to his ear, licked the whorl of it, and said, "You better tell me right now if you don't want this."

"Fuck, Harvey, I want it—" Mike took a deep breath. “But I need to know that you’re not just going to—”

Harvey grabbed his chin, looking like he was barely hanging on to the tethers of his control. Harvey brushed a kiss across his mouth. "Do I need to compose a sonnet?"

Mike smiled, eyebrow quirking upward. "I would like my sonnet now, please."

"I'm afraid this is as close as you're going get," Harvey said and pushed up against Mike. He claimed his mouth, and Mike groaned into it, opening his mouth under Harvey's. He relished the slide of Harvey's tongue against his again, soft and bitter with coffee.

"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you?" Harvey said against his mouth and nipped at his bottom lip.

"If you play your cards right," Mike said, cupping the back of Harvey's neck, pushing his fingers into his hair. "Jesus, you make me insane." 

"Let me assure you, the feeling is mutual," Harvey said, and kissed him so thoroughly that Mike had no more room for doubts.

**Author's Note:**

> Movie quotes in order of appearance:
> 
> 1\. References below are from _Tron_ (1982). Mike's quote is bastardized for my purposes; the original one is: " _Not so young, not so bright, but very, very sneaky_." In the fic, Mike says, "Young, bright, _and_ very, very sneaky.” Harvey references the movie back when he says: “Okay, Dillinger, I need you to go down to Lubrication tonight.”  
>  2\. From _The Goonies_ (1985):  
>  " _Your looks are kinda pretty, when your face isn't screwing it up_."  
>  3\. From _The Princess Bride_ (1987):  
>  " _Truly, you have a dizzying intellect._ "  
> " _Wait till I get going_!"


End file.
